


does your mother know

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Coming In Pants, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, aspiring future cougar and verified bisexual™ tyson barrie, excessive/ambiguously out-of-date pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Maybe the key to inner peace is to just ask yourself,what would Christine Baranski do?and have no-strings-attached sex with a much younger coworker.





	does your mother know

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%. Please keep this work confined to fan spaces and away from the eyes of the people mentioned herein!
> 
> alt summary: tyson and tyson turn a bad night good.
> 
> thanks to christa, leisha, and dell for their incredible beta work!

 

Tyson is a smart, competent, talented woman. Those things are true, and even if she never actually feels like any of those things, it’s nice to have a mantra she can repeat when her confidence is in the fucking garbage. No, actually— the garbage disposal, being ripped apart by ominous blades that only make their presence known when they’re wreaking havoc on a fork, and then being sent into the sewer system. That’s where her self esteem is, right now. 

It’s not like there’s one particular reason, just— the impending start of the season, the change of being back in Denver where things are the same but also not, the usual onslaught of media and fear of expectations getting too high. She thinks she might be getting her period soon, but then again, she always thinks she’s getting her period soon when she feels like crap. It’s probably just seasonal change and exhaustion, and it’s normal, maybe, but it doesn’t make her feel better. 

(And if any of this happens to have something to do with the fact that Nate and her boyfriend from juniors are officially on again, even though he’s the same guy she’s broken up with twice already, just with longer hair— then all Tyson has to say is: Nate is straight. She’s known since day 1 that Tyson could be an option, and aside from the one time they made out on a dare and Nate couldn’t stop laughing about how  _ weird  _ it was, she’s never done anything about it, so— if she wants to date French-Canadian boys with awful hair who have yet to show any ability to maintain a long distance relationship, then it’s her choice and absolutely none of Tyson’s business.

Whatever. She’s out with the team and trying to do something about it, and she’s fairly confident that tomorrow morning she’ll wake up thinking that her hair looks great and her skin is clear and that her skating’s amazing and that she’s gonna be ready to face the season. Either that, or she’ll wake up hungover, but when that wears off, she’ll feel more like herself. Like, friendly, and a good friend and teammate, and a generally happy, not-moody person.) 

“Hey,” a voice says, and Tyson recognizes Josty’s voice without having to look, but she does anyway. He’s alone, which is a little surprising, considering he’s usually got Compher or Kerfoot or both at his side. Maybe this is a sign that the rookies are gonna try and branch out this season. If Tyson was the mom-friend of this team, she’d probably think it was good for them, making new friends and trying new things. As it stands, Tyson’s some weird cross between eccentric uncle and gay cousin, which is fine by her, because it means she gets drunk and has interesting conversations and no discernible responsibilities. 

“Wait a second,” Tyson says. “Am I seeing this right? There’s only one of you here? That’s like, Donna without the Dynamos. Blossom without Bubbles or Buttercup.” 

“I think JT’s more Blossom,” Josty says, sliding into the chair next to her. Kid’s too smooth for his own good sometimes, she thinks idly. 

“Right, the hair,” Tyson says. “And you’re definitely Bubbles.” 

“Why am I Bubbles?” Josty says, and he’s smiling all wide and flushed and genuine, which— 

“Because of that,” she says, pointing at his face. “You’re totally the cutie pie.” 

“Is that your way of telling me you think I’m cute?” Josty actually bats his eyelashes, which makes him look every bit like the pretty boy/jock hybrid he is. 

“Adorable,” Tyson says, reaching over to pinch his cheek. “Just the most precious little rookie—”

“Fuck off, I’m not a rookie anymore,” Josty says, scrunching his nose as he tries to bat her hand away. “I’m all grown up now. Look ma, no friends, see?”

“I’m not your mom, that’s Landy’s job.” 

“It can be both of you,” he says. “I always thought of it as a Full House kind of thing, honestly.”

“Who?” 

“You, Gabe, and Nate,” Josty says. “You’re the dads.”

Tyson considers that for a minute. “So I’m guessing I’m Joey?” 

“Yep,” Josty confirms. “Nate’s Jesse, and Gabe’s Danny.” 

“Huh,” she says. She can’t quite see it, honestly, but that’s probably because Uncle Joey on Full House never had a multi-season arc centered around his painfully unrequited feelings for Uncle Jesse. If she ignores that part of it, she can sort of understand where he’s coming from. “Not bad,” she says. “I mean, except for the part where I don’t have a dope puppet.” 

“Don’t say dope,” Josty says, laughing again. “Especially don’t say dope if you’re gonna say it about a puppet.”

“Excuse you, dope isn’t your generation’s word,” Tyson says. “Millennials say dope too, you know. It’s not a Gen Z exclusive.” 

“It’s not an age thing, it’s a you thing,” Josty says. 

“Dope,” Tyson says, because she is a natural when it comes to taking orders from cocky rookies with grace. “Dope dope dope dope dope—” 

“I’m confused, are you calling me a dope?” 

She actually hadn’t been, but— “If the shoe fits.” She shrugs. “I call ‘em like I see em, man.” 

“You’re so mean,” Josty says. “That’s  _ so  _ mean.” 

“What’re you gonna do, tell on me to Landy Tanner?” 

Josty snorts. “Yeah, like Gabe would ever take my side over yours.” 

It’s a light jab, but Tyson blushes at it anyway— she doesn’t wanna talk about the way Gabe can get about her, because she spends most of her time pretending that it’s just occasional strange and inexplicable possessiveness, so instead, she takes a sip of her beer. “You never told me where the other two amigos are.”

“Well, I don’t know where they are, but I do know that wherever it is, they’re almost definitely making out.” He crinkles his nose. “It’s all they do these days, and it’s gross.” 

“Jesus, did they put something in the water this summer? Nate and her boy are back together, the rookies are hooking up— did I miss the memo that told us we aren’t allowed to be single anymore?” 

“If it’s any consolation, I think they also forgot to copy me on that,” Josty says. 

“Well,” Tyson says, raising her bottle in a toast, even though Josty doesn’t have a drink. “To being alone.” 

“Cheers,” Josty says, doing what Tyson guesses is the nod equivalent of lifting his glass. 

She tries not to feel too much like an Anna Faris character as she takes a long sip, only narrowly avoiding choking as it goes down, and she doesn’t look at Josty until the whole ordeal is over. To her surprise, she finds him looking at her, in a way that she’d usually call staring, except she doesn’t feel studied, she feels… seen, sort of. 

“What?” she asks, and she ignores the way she blushes, because it’s not like Josty could see it, anyway. 

“I’m just thinking,” Josty says, and his face is serious, which is just— weird. “You’re single, I’m single.” 

“Ooh ooh ooh, is this a game where we name things we have in common?” Tyson asks. “Let’s see, uh… okay, I have a good one, my name’s Tyson, and so is yours. That counts, right?”

“Totally counts. And we’re both from BC, so there’s another,” Josty says, grinning, but it’s small, and it’s gone and replaced with that same considering look after a second. “Also, I’m avoiding my friends tonight, and it looks like you are, too.” 

Tyson looks down at her hands, tries to flash a sarcastic smile as she says, “What, can’t a woman just drink alone in a different room and call it socializing?” 

“You’ve been nothing but nice to me since I walked in, so I feel like socializing isn’t the issue here,” Josty says. 

“Wow, you caught me,” Tyson says flatly. “Exceptional perceptiveness, such emotional IQ—”

“Look, I’m not saying you have to talk about it,” he says.

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That we could maybe— y’know.” He bobs his head. “Do something about it.” 

Tyson blinks. “What?” 

“You’re single, I’m single,” he repeats. “So we could…”

“...do it like they do on the Discovery Channel?” Tyson finishes. “Is that what you’re trying to say?” 

“I mean, I’d phrase it differently—”

“You want me to take a ride on your disco stick,” she says. 

“Or just, like, hook up,” Josty says. “That’s a fine way of saying it.” 

“You’ll take me to the candy shop,” she says. “You’ll let me lick the lolli—”

“Stop.” 

“Thought you wanted me to let you hear my body talk, my body talk?” 

“You can just say no,” Josty snaps. “I get it, alright?” 

The hurt in his tone jerks her out of the bit. “Sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to make fun, or anything.” 

“It’s fine,” Josty mutters, picking at the hem of his shirt a little. “It was a dumb idea anyway.” 

“Then why’d you ask in the first place?” 

He shrugs. “I mean, the usual reasons.” 

“Okay, sure, wanting to get laid, but— why me?” 

Josty turns to her, looks her up and down like he’s embarrassed to be looking at all, and, like— okay, Tyson knows that she’s got some things working in her favor, looks-wise, but it’s not like Josty’s ever looked at her like  _ that  _ before. She’s usually good about keeping track of when guys look for a little too long, but she doesn’t think she’s ever flagged Josty for staring at her chest or her legs or whatever. Anyway, Tyson’s never been the type of girl that hockey-playing guys go for, because she’s not blonde, not skinny, doesn’t really know how to be a Hot Girl, and that’s always been fine with her. She’s a bisexual hockey player, not NHL WAG material. It’s a different definition of hot, is all.  

But Josty looks so genuine, and it’s— unexpected. Sort of sweet, maybe. 

“I mean, it’s flattering, but I didn’t realize you had a thing for older women,” Tyson says. 

“I don’t— it’s not— you’re not  _ old,” _ Josty says, sputtering a little. 

“When you were just starting high school, I was in the NHL,” she says. “Don’t worry, I get it, man. Ask EJ what I had to say when we saw Mamma Mia.” 

“Meryl Streep?” 

“No— I mean, well, actually, yes, but this was about Christine Baranski,” Tyson says. “She has one good leg, but man, she knows how to use it.” 

“Which one was she?” 

“The cougar,” Tyson says, even though, in her opinion, she’s so much more than that. “Sang ‘Does Your Mother Know’ in the first movie. The tall one.” 

“Oh, her?” Josty says. “Huh.” 

“What does that ‘huh’ mean, kiddo?” 

“I mean, she’s not my type, but I guess I see it— also, don’t call me ‘kid’. I’m not  _ that _ young.” 

“You’re too young for me,” Tyson points out. 

“And you’re too young for Christine Baranski, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” Josty says, and, like— 

Okay, there are a lot of good reasons for not sleeping with Josty. Like, the fact that Tyson is three years from thirty, while Josty isn’t old enough to legally drink in the US, and the fact that they share a first name, and the fact that they’re teammates, and the last thing Tyson needs in her life is more drama with any of those. And, like, Tyson is really picky about guys anyway, and has never thought about Josty as an option before he brought it up, and she’s literally in love with someone else, who’s straight and in a relationship and just doesn’t see Tyson like that—

But at the same time… Josty’s cute. 

Like, objectively, as far as guys go, he’s attractive, in the sense that he’s fun to look at; Tyson’s never really spent any amount of time thinking about it, because Josty’s never been on her radar, but now that it’s being posed as a relevant question, she’s not  _ not  _ into him. Not because he’s particularly handsome, really, just— he’s a good kid. Or, no, a good  _ guy,  _ probably, because she really shouldn’t be calling him a kid while she’s trying to figure out whether or not she wants to sleep with him.

Anyway. He’s cute, and she likes him well enough, and even if he didn’t know who Christine Baranski was right away, he does respect Tyson’s thirst for her. 

Also, as far as bad ideas go, this one isn’t  _ that  _ bad. They’re friends, but not close enough that sleeping together would make things weird, and as long as no one finds out, no one has to know it happened. 

Also, Christine Baranski would probably be in favor of Tyson having a cougar phase. 

Also, it’s not like Josty’s gonna go around bragging about it, because he tends to be a halfway decent human being who listens to people and stuff. 

Also, Tyson’s feeling bad about herself, and bad decisions don’t count when you’re feeling bad about yourself. 

“Okay,” Tyson says, then nods, mostly to herself. “Okay. I’m gonna ask you a few questions.” 

“Hit me,” Josty says. 

“STD’s,” Tyson says. “You got any?” 

“Nope, totally clean.” 

“How do you feel about condoms?” 

“Big fan. Huge condom guy, for sure.” 

“Good,” Tyson says. “Last one: can you keep a secret?” 

Josty bites his lip, then nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I could, yeah.” 

Tyson looks around, makes sure there’s no one in earshot, then says, in a low voice, “Okay, here’s the deal. This is a one night, one time offer, and it’s  _ not  _ gonna become a thing, got it?” 

“Does that mean—” Josty’s eyes go a little wide, but he’s very clearly trying to play it cool. “Are you saying yes?” 

“One night,” Tyson repeats. “Just one.” 

“Cool, yeah, got it,” Josty says. 

“Good.” Tyson nods once, confirming. “So we should probably—” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder.

“Now?” 

“I don’t see much of a reason to stick around any longer,” she says, already standing up. 

“Guess not,” Josty says, and then he gets to his feet and follows Tyson as she makes her way to the door with a stride that she thinks would make Christine Baranski proud. 

…… 

Nonchalance has never been Tyson’s area of expertise, but she manages it for the entire cab ride back to hers, mostly because she knows there’s no way the silence isn’t as awkward as it feels. Normally, she’d maybe try to make conversation if she were just splitting a cab, but they’re not really close enough to have an easy conversation going, and there’s a particular brand of slightly-stilted, slightly-forced conversation that exists between acquaintances-by-proxy sharing a cab that doesn’t really translate into the bedroom smoothly. 

Josty seems content to be on his phone the whole time, though, so Tyson just looks out the window and tries not to think too much about what she’s about to do, because if she thinks about it, she’s gonna start to overthink it, and this isn’t worth the stress. Tyson can do casual sex, and it’s not like she’s really worried about scaring Josty away by being too weird or too bi or too Tyson-y, the way she used to be—or, still is, as much as she hates it—around guys. Like, he knows what he’s getting into with her, so she doesn’t have to worry about setting him straight on what this is gonna be. 

The car ride is short, thankfully, and things feel a little less awkward once they’re out of the car and actually alone.

“So,” Tyson says, as they make their way to the front door, “I can’t remember, have you been to my place before?”

“I think so,” Josty says. “For… it was a baseball game, or basketball, maybe? A team thing.”

“Right, well, it was probably clean then, and it’s not now, but, like, you’re twenty and have two roommates, so I’m guessing you don’t care.”

“Hey,” Josty says, sounding mildly offended. “Not all twenty-year-olds are messy.”

“All hockey players are messy,” Tyson says. “Three hockey players living together is probably a biohazard, technically.”

“I’m the clean one,” Josty says, like that’s something he’s very proud of. Tyson wonders if he thinks it comes across as mature, and not just like he’s a pretty boy who needs everything in his life to look as good as his face. 

“They should give you a trophy,” Tyson says, opening the door. “Anyway, uh. Welcome.”

Her house isn’t actually that messy, really; it’s also just… not notable. It’s lived-in, even though they’re on the road a lot, and she really likes spending time here, but she didn’t really get a decorator in here or anything, and it’s not some super aesthetic, Instagram-worthy setup. 

“Whoa,” Josty says. “This is, like, a house.” 

Tyson rolls her eyes. “I know, I kinda live here.” 

“It’s, uh— it’s nice?” 

“Sure,” Tyson says. “I mean, I could give you the tour, or— I don’t know, do you want something to drink? Like, water, or— I think all I have is water, actually, and it’s just tap water, but if you want a glass—” 

“I think I’m good,” Josty says. 

“Cool,” Tyson says. “Then, uh— let’s get right to it, yeah?” 

Josty blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah.” 

Tyson raises her eyebrows, trying to hint at some sort of challenge, maybe, and she watches as Josty blushes ever so slightly before traces of determination start to make themselves known in his brow. She doesn’t know why she loves the idea of Josty coming to her so much— maybe it’s her inner Christine Baranski telling her to make him work for it, or the years spent pining for someone who will never want her back making her want to cling to the upper hand she’s got now. Either way, Josty is the one who’s doing the chasing right now, and Tyson feels a little bad reveling in the attention of a guy just because he’s objectively hot, but she revels nonetheless. 

And it’s not just because of the way Josty looks, really, because the attention he’s giving her— it feels  _ good,  _ in the genuine way, not just because a cute guy is looking at her and making her feel like she’s done something right. She’s  _ affecting _ him, making his eyes go a little dark and his breath hitch, and it’s usually so stressful to hook up with guys at all, because she never knows if she’s doing it because she actually wants to or because of the way it makes her feel less Tyson and more Normal Girl, and, like, sure, she’s definitely overthinking it right now, but the do-you-even-know-what-you-want thoughts are quieter than they usually are— 

And when Josty takes one, two steps towards her, crowds her against the door, and kisses her, those thoughts, along with all her other thoughts, go completely silent. 

God, it’s  _ good.  _

It’s so good. Reaffirmingly good, honestly, because Tyson had forgotten that kissing—serious, no-nonsense, kissing-to-press-our-bodies-together kissing—is one of her favorite things about sex. It’s the first time you really get a chance to show someone how much you want them, and the first chance to see how you fit against each other, and there’s something a little special about that, Tyson thinks. 

Josty’s a good kisser, once Tyson gets over being weirded out that he’s taller than her. Mostly, she’s not used to feeling small next to him, and it’s not like he’s exactly towering over her, but he’s still— he’s tall enough that she’s gotta tilt her head up to kiss him, tall enough that she notices it, even if it’s only an inch. It might also have something to do with the fact that his hands feel huge, which isn’t the type of thing Tyson usually notices. She’s not even sure if it’s got something to do with their actual size, even. It’s more like, Josty’s hands are on her face, and then they’re moving down the side of her body, and they’re squeezing her hips, and everywhere they are, she can feel them, firm and  _ holding  _ her. 

It’s just so easy to let herself enjoy this in a simple kind of way, which is kind of mind-blowing, because nothing ever gets to be simple or easy for her. Maybe the key to inner peace is to just ask yourself,  _ what would Christine Baranski do?  _ and have no-strings-attached sex with a much younger coworker. 

“Mmm,” Tyson hums against his mouth, when she slots a thigh between his legs experimentally and is gratified when he grinds against it, almost subconsciously. “Wanna head to the bedroom?” 

“Yeah,” Josty says, his voice a little strained. “I, uh—” He takes a step away. “Lead the way?” 

“It’s up the stairs,” Tyson says. “C’mon.” 

They don’t exactly run to the bedroom, but they do walk very, very fast, and when they get there, Tyson quickly kicks off her shoes and props herself up on her elbows, legs spread a little as she waits for Josty to join her. 

“You’re still wearing all that?” Josty asks, undoing his belt buckle before sliding it through the loops and off his pants. 

“I mean, it’ll come off eventually,” Tyson says, shrugging. “Come  _ on.” _

“One sec, I don’t want to have my fucking jeans on,” Josty says, and then he slides them off, which really shouldn’t be sexy, except for the fact that he’s got huge fucking thighs, and is wearing boxer briefs that do everything they can to show them off. He takes off his shirt next, all in one motion in a way that Tyson knows is just the most efficient way to remove clothing, but in this particular moment, feels a little bit like Josty showing off. 

“Thanks for the show, Magic Mike, wanna get on top of me now?” 

“Jesus,” Josty says, but he relents, crawling onto the bed and into the space between her legs. The curls of his hair fall gently onto his forehead, and Tyson’s hit by a random wave of overwhelming fondness. He’s just so  _ cute,  _ sort of determined but trying to play it cool, and definitely excited, and so,  _ so  _ handsome.

“Took you long enough,” Tyson says, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Josty says, and Tyson loves that he can’t seem to stop blushing. “Can I—” He tugs at the hem of her sweatshirt. “Can this come off?” 

“Ugh,” Tyson says, mostly at the prospect of having to sit up, but she does it anyway. “So demanding.” 

She’s expecting a quip in response, but she doesn’t get one, and when she looks up, Josty’s eyes are locked on her chest. 

Which— right, yeah, boobs. Duh. 

“So you just, like, weren’t wearing a shirt or anything under that,” Josty says. 

“I mean, yeah,” Tyson says. “It was a drink with the team, I wasn’t gonna get dressed up for it.” 

“Sure,” Josty says, clearly distracted. Tyson’s tempted to  _ eyes-up-here  _ him, but she actually doesn’t really want him to look away— his expression is all admiration and appreciation and no underlying creepiness. It’s a nice feeling, to be looked at like a person by someone she’s about to have sex with. It also makes her feel weirdly proud, and incredibly fond, too. 

“So,” she says, lying back down on the bed. “Let’s get to the fun stuff.” 

Josty leans forward so that he’s on top of her, arms bracketed around her head, and she’s pretty sure they’ve both got the same small smile going right now. She mentally adds it to the list of things the have in common. 

“Thought I was the fun stuff,” he says, his face close to hers. 

She huffs out a laugh, feeling a little breathless, all of a sudden. “Smooth,” she says, and Josty flashes her a familiar, charming grin before he leans in to kiss her, his hand cupping her breast as he does. She gasps a little when his thumb brushes her nipple, and his mouth is breaking away from hers to get to work on her neck, and it’s just— 

It’s  _ good.  _

“Oh,  _ fuck  _ yeah,” she says, as Josty starts to press a line of kisses down her torso, hands working under the band of her leggings. 

“This good?” Josty asks. “Me going down on you, I mean.” 

She doesn’t really have the brain capacity to make a dumb joke, so she just nods frantically, and kicks off her leggings so fast she nearly clips Josty with her knee. Before she gets a chance to apologize, though, Josty’s kissing the inside of her thighs, and then his mouth is on her, and she throws her head back and groans, adjusts to the sensation of a mouth on her clit.

It feels… nice, because Josty’s apparently got enough of an understanding of how vaginas work to not do anything weird with his teeth or tongue, but Tyson can tell he’s just— he’s trying really hard, which is nice, but Tyson’s a simple woman. She doesn’t really care enough about Josty’s ego to have the patience for his showing off, and she knows how bad habits form, so she figures she might as well do his future partners a favor and nudge him in the right direction, away from all the fancy things he keeps trying to do. 

“Yo,” she says, and when Josty lifts his head, she feels a little powerful. “You can… relax, a little.”  

She’s a little surprised when he goes bright red, ducks his head a bit. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t have to, if you don’t want.” 

“What? No, keep going— I mean, unless you want to stop? Just, I’m not into all the—” She does a gesture that’s either spirit fingers or jazz hands, she can never tell the difference, “—pizzazz, y’know?”

“Alright,” Josty says, but he sounds unsure, even though Tyson’s pulling out all her usual mood-lightening tricks.

“Or, like— don’t, if you’re gonna look at my vagina like you’re scared of it,” she says.

“I’m not scared of vaginas,” Josty says, looking more embarrassed by the second. 

“So what, mine’s special?” She tries to keep her voice light.

Josty’s silent for a beat. “It’s just— like, I know girls are usually… better, at, like, doing this.”

“At what, going down?” Tyson asks.

“Yeah,” Josty says. “Or, I mean— with other girls, specifically, because they understand the anatomy, or whatever, and— I’ve never done this with a girl who— who, like, with other girls?”

It takes Tyson a second to piece the problem together from that. “You— you’re worried that your pussy eating skills won’t match up to a lesbian?”

“More or less?” Josty says. “Sorry if that’s not something I’m supposed to say. About lesbians, I mean.”

“No, I think the deference is appropriate,” Tyson says. “Like, I guess you’re not wrong? But it’s only because straight people talk about the female orgasm like it’s some heroic quest, and meanwhile, we’re just bangin’ ‘em out on our own every time we can’t sleep.”

“What?” 

“Like— there’s a confidence factor, right? We know how to make it happen, so we feel like we can replicate our results, and it’s helpful to have a reference guide handy, if you catch my drift, but— like, you don’t have to do any of those tongue twister things. They don’t really… do much? Not for me, anyway. Just— get a rhythm going. Feel it out. Don’t think too much.”

“You just gave me a lot of advice to not think about,” Josty points out. 

“Listen, man, just go with it,” Tyson says. “Or don’t. Whatever you want, really.” 

“Alright,” Josty says, and looks at her vagina like he’s negotiating with it, or something, but before Tyson can give him shit for it, his mouth is on her clit again, which means the moment for chirping has passed. 

Thankfully, Josty stops with the fancy stuff, and Tyson tries to be vocal in her appreciation; he’d had good instincts to start with, and now that he’s actually listening for her responses, he’s doing great. 

If Tyson weren’t busy being eaten out, she’d probably be proud. 

As it stands, though she’s mostly just— overwhelmed, because everything feels fucking amazing. The steady, consistent pressure on her clit is good enough on its own, but then it starts to  _ build,  _ and after a while, Tyson finds herself having to try to keep her hips from bucking up and accidentally breaking Josty’s nose.

“Okay, hey, just— get your fingers inside me, please,” she pants. “Fuck.” 

“Are you—” Josty says, looking surprised, but Tyson can’t really appreciate the way his face is all red and kind of wet, because she  _ needs  _ to be touched, and Josty’s mouth is whole centimeters away from her. 

“Close,” she says. “Come  _ on.”  _

“Shit, yeah,” Josty hisses, and then he’s got two fingers inside her and his mouth back on her clit, but it’s not  _ enough,  _ and she’s right on the edge, and just— 

“Okay, just—” she says, and when Josty lifts his head, she takes the opportunity to get a hand on herself and rub in the exact way she needs, and then she’s coming, clenching around Josty’s fingers as she does. It’s the kind of drawn-out orgasm that only happens when the build-up has been bordering on agonizing, and it goes on for a while, until eventually, her breath starts to stagger and she begins to come back down to earth. 

“Sorry,” she says to Josty, who, as far as Tyson can tell, hasn’t moved. “Didn’t give you much warning, there.”

“No worries,” Josty says, sounding a little bit like he’s been hypnotized, which is sort of amusing, if only because it’s deeply relatable. Tyson’s made girls come before, okay, she  _ knows  _ what Josty’s probably feeling right now. “It was worth it.” 

“You’re telling me,” Tyson says, and the usual rush of calm fondness that comes after an orgasm if starting to set in. 

“Can I—” Josty gulps; Tyson can see that his face is red, and his eyes are dark. It’s a great look on him, really. 

“Can you?” she prompts.

“Kiss you,” he says in a rush, and when she nods, he scrambles up the length of her body, his cock pressing against her thigh— hard, she realizes, which should maybe have been obvious, but there’s a difference between knowing he’s hard, and feeling the damp spot on his boxer briefs from precome on her leg as he grinds kind of desperately against her. 

“God, Josty,” she says, mostly bewildered, but it comes out breathy.

Josty groans in response, squeezes his eyes shut before going all still, and Tyson’s head is spinning as she realizes what’s happening.

“Fuck,” Josty says, this cut-off, choked thing. His eyes are still closed, but his face is the reddest thing Tyson’s ever seen, and she can feel his come starting to soak through the fabric of his underwear. 

If Tyson were a better person, or a person with better self esteem, the realization that he’d been so turned on from eating her out wouldn’t go directly to her ego, but Tyson’s never claimed to be humble before, and she sure as hell isn't gonna start now. It feels fucking  _ amazing,  _ and even though the rational part of her brain is telling her that this doesn’t necessarily mean she’s an amazing sex goddess, she can’t really shake the heady feeling— he’d probably been so close from barely any contact at all that all it took was a few thrusts to get him off, and he couldn’t even wait until he was naked to do it. That’s fucking desperate, and that’s— it’s fucking  _ hot,  _ is what it is.

“Um,” Josty says, and Tyson has to stop herself from smiling at the shade of red his face is. He’s embarrassed, and she gets why, but she doesn’t want to make him feel bad about it. Simple morality, right there: someone makes you feel good, you don’t make fun of them, accidentally or otherwise.

“Nice timing,” she says, then leans up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, doesn’t dwell too much on it when she catches the corner of his mouth instead. She’s a little surprised when he turns his head to make the kiss deeper, but she doesn’t mind it at all. She’s pretty sure ‘kissing is a highly underrated activity’ is about to become the next hill on which she is willing to die. 

Josty breaks it off a few seconds later, still blushing, but a little less so. “That was— good,” he says. “I mean, it was good for me.” And— okay, the blush is back. “Um. Obviously.” 

The  _ obviously  _ bit is unfortunate, if only because it forces Tyson to think about the fact that Josty’s crotch is still on her leg, and it’s starting to feel sticky. “Same here,” she says, and then, with a small grin, “Obviously.” 

“Sorry you had to, uh, take over at the end there,” Josty says, with a shy smile. It’s pretty sweet, if Tyson’s being honest with herself. 

“Listen, you did most of the heavy lifting on that one, I figured I’d come through with the assist.” She winces at the unintentional metaphor, but Josty almost perks up at it, like post-sex debriefing is easier with hockey metaphors. 

“I think technically I’d get the assist. You’re the finisher, right?” 

Tyson rolls her eyes. “Please take some life advice from an older and wiser Tyson, don’t use the word ‘technically’ before, during, or after sex.” 

“Whatever,” Josty says, trying to hide his smile for reasons Tyson can’t quite figure out. “Mind if I use your shower?” 

“When I’m done in the bathroom, yeah,” she says, nudging him off of her. She’s prepared to explain that she has double claim on first dibs because of UTI prevention and also because it’s her house, but Josty is apparently on the same page and doesn’t put up a fight over it. She tries not to wrinkle her nose at the feeling of the sticky patch of jizz on her leg being exposed to the cool air of her bedroom after he’s gotten up— though, honestly, she can imagine worse sensations. Like, as gross as this is, she’s pretty sure it’s the hot kind of gross. 

She wipes it off when she’s in the bathroom, though, and generally tries to be as fast as possible so Josty doesn’t have to deal with the mess on his end for too long, because even if she finds it weirdly hot, she probably shouldn’t count on his reaction being the same.

“Here ya go,” she says, lobbing a towel at his face when she walks back into the bedroom. 

“What the—” Josty says, removing it. “Oh. Thanks.” 

“No sweat,” she says. “Bathroom’s down the hall and to the left.” 

“Anything I should know about your shower?” 

“When you turn the knobs, water comes out,” Tyson says. “You’re a bright kid, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

“You’re really gonna call me ‘kid’ right now?” Josty asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s what Christine Baranski would do,” Tyson says, not missing a beat. “Keep up, Josty, I’m a cougar now, so I talk like this sometimes. Get used to it.”

Josty laughs at that, and Tyson’s sort of disarmed by how genuinely fond and downright sweet it sounds. “You’re actually the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” 

“Categorically false,” Tyson says. “Literally everyone on our team is super fucking weird.” 

“You’re the weirdest,” Josty says confidently. 

Tyson’s pretty sure he means it, and she’s also pretty sure it’s a compliment. 

She’s pretty sure it’s a big one, actually. 

“You’re giving me a run for my money, then,” she says, and Josty’s face tells her that it was exactly the right thing to say. “Go take a shower, loser, and while you’re in there, think about how you’re gonna convince me to let you be the big spoon when we cuddle.” 

“Who said I want to be the big spoon?” Josty says, giving her a wink before he walks out into the hallway. 

Tyson nods approvingly to her empty bedroom, because that’s the best answer he could’ve given, then lies down, not bothering to tug her sweatshirt back on or anything. It’ll probably be too hot with two people in the bed anyway, and honestly? Josty’s young. Tyson’s not ruling out the possibility of them going another round. 

Somewhere down the hall, the shower starts up, and Tyson smiles without really meaning to, thinks about how this was almost definitely a bad decision, and one she would—or, realistically, she  _ will _ —probably make again.  

**Author's Note:**

> not tagged: background nate/jo, one-sided tyson/nate pining, ambiguous gabe/tyson feelings, background kerfoot/compher.
> 
> i really didn't mean for there to be subplots and background stuff but oh well! have a lot of my feelings about bisexuality and also christine baranski.


End file.
